She sat down at once and played for him; then sang at his desire.

Rich as she was in the gifts of nature, her voice was the chief,--thrilling, flexible, with a sympathetic quality that in singing pathetic music brought tears, though the hearer understood not a word of the language in which she sang.

In the old time he had never wearied listening, and now he besought her to repeat for him some of the dear, familiar songs.

If these held for her any associations, he did not know it; she gave no outward sign,--sang to him as sweetly and calmly as to the veriest stranger.

What else had he expected?
Nothing; yet, with the unreasonableness of a lover, was disappointed that nothing appeared.
Taking up a piece at random, without pausing to remember the words, he said, spreading it before her, "May I tax you a little farther?
I am greedy, I know, but then how can I help it ?" It was the song of the Princess.
She hesitated a moment, and half closed the book.